


louder than sirens, louder than bells

by hihoplastic



Series: The Worst Witch Tumblr Prompts [12]
Category: The Worst Witch (TV 2017)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2019-02-16 12:41:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13054200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hihoplastic/pseuds/hihoplastic
Summary: When Ada had suggested hosting a Yule Ball and inviting the other nearby schools, Hecate had thought it was —well, not a good idea, the squealing about boys and dresses in the middle of potions class attesting to that, but not a bad one either. She’d gone on about cross-academy cooperation and fostering community, but Hecate had already been rearranging her schedule and mentally cataloging everything they’d need to do to open the castle to everyone.As such, she hadn’t caught the knowing glint in Ada’s eye when she requested Hecate contact Miss Pentangle’s.





	louder than sirens, louder than bells

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gutsandglitter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gutsandglitter/gifts).



> \- Thank you to applebottomclaudiajeans on tumblr for the prompt! (Hecate + fit of gay panic)  
> \- Title from Florence and the Machine's "Drumming Song"

When Ada had suggested hosting a Yule Ball and inviting the other nearby schools, Hecate had thought it was —well, not a  _good_  idea, the squealing about boys and dresses in the middle of potions class attesting to that, but not a bad one either. She’d gone on about cross-academy cooperation and fostering community, but Hecate had already been rearranging her schedule and mentally cataloging everything they’d need to do to open the castle to everyone.

As such, she hadn’t caught the knowing glint in Ada’s eye when she requested Hecate contact Miss Pentangle’s.

Her stomach had flipped, as it always did at the mention of Pippa, but she’d merely nodded and said she would handle all the invitations—Ada really did have a lot on her plate—and excused herself to begin preparations.

That had been nearly a month ago, and as much as she isn’t looking forward to socializing, monitoring student behavior, or listening to Yule carols all night, she’s glad the night is finally here, and can therefore finally be over.

And, well, if her anxiety over the whole affair has less to do with keeping students away from the faculty punch and more to do with a certain pink-clad witch, no one but her is the wiser.

It’s the only thought that keeps her sane as students and a few faculty from each school - three of them, including Pippa’s - are ushered into the great hall. There’s music and festive decorations and a long table full of food and sweets, and Hecate considers it her secret gift to the students that she’d catered the event and given Miss Tapioca the night off.

Or maybe not so secret, she thinks, as the third student of the hour passes by with a frosting covered face and  _beams_  at her.

She rarely smiles back, but nods her head in greeting and bites down the urge to ask if they’ve finished their assignments or studied for their exams or practiced their broomstick routines.

“It’s their night off, Hecate,” Ada had stressed. “And ours as well. Who knows, you might even have fun.”

Hecate had wrinkled her nose at the word in a way that made Ada laugh and shake her head in what Hecate has come to recognize as fondness.

She isn’t having fun, not really—the feeling far too uncomfortable, too reminiscent of times spent following Pippa around the castle, begrudgingly letting her drag Hecate into all sorts of mischief, evenings studying with Pippa at her side, days off campus in her later years, sipping tea at a quiet cafe while Pippa went on and on about whatever news of the day.

This is hardly the same, but she is a bit more relaxed than usual, conversing quietly with Ada as she tries to keep her eyes from scanning the crowd. She hasn’t seen Pippa yet, hasn’t sought her out, and decided it’s best to wait until their paths cross. Eagerness has never suited Hecate, and she won’t start now.

A pair of students catches her attention across the hall, the two of them far too close, and she excuses herself before popping up right beside them. They jump apart, still holding on to each other’s shoulders, and Hecate gives them a knowing look.

“Better,” she says, and wanders away, hiding her smirk as she listens to them giggle behind her.

She chalks it up to being distracted that it takes a moment for the high, rich laugh to settle in her ears, and when she turns, catches her first glimpse of Pippa, standing near the edge of the dance floor with Dimity.

Unlike Hecate, most of the staff had chosen to wear something different, something special for the occasion. Ada had chosen a soft pink dress with a red cardigan that is horribly mismatched, but perfectly Ada. Dimity wears green, a color that suits her, Hecate thinks, and has woven a poinsettia in her hair. Even Mr. Rowan Webb looks festive in gold and green robes.

But none of them compare to Pippa.

Pippa, in a tight red dress and matching heels, her hair loose around her shoulders in a way that reminds Hecate of when they were young. She looks so soft, yet so striking, that Hecate can’t look away.

She stops, frozen in the middle of the floor, students occasionally bumping into her but she hardly notices, too fixated on the sight of Pippa, her head thrown back in laughter, wide smile on her face and flute of champagne held between delicate fingers.

Hecate has always known Pippa was beautiful. Even bleary-eyed from lack of sleep or wind-tousled from flying, Hecate has always found her stunning, almost too much so, like staring directly into the sun.

She feels that way now, feels her heart skip and her breathing go jagged, the overwhelming urge to touch in her fingertips. She wants the way she’s always wanted, with everything she has and more, and it hurts, but in a good way, almost.

Because it’s always been Pippa. Just Pippa. No one else ever compared, never came close, and the ache in her chest makes it hard to breathe.

She wants to move, to go closer, to stand next to Pippa and absorb even a little of her warmth and light, but her feet feel heavy, sunk into the floor, and all she can do is stare.

“Your jaw, Hecate,” comes a low voice from beside her, and Hecate jumps, neck cracking as she whips around to see Miss Bat standing next to her, a serene smile on her face as she leans in close. “You might want to see to it.”

Her expression must be one of confusion, because Miss Bat pats her arm gently and whispers, “It’s a bit on the floor.”

Hecate freezes. Feels suddenly hot and cold, her eyes wide and jaw tense as Miss Bat continues on, unperturbed, “Not that I blame you, of course, she does look lovely. What a nice shade of red, don’t you think?” and, “How nice we were able to do this for the students. They work so hard.”

But Hecate isn’t listening, can’t hear the songs or the chattering students, just a low ringing in her ears as the gravity of the situation falls on her.

Miss Bat  _knows._

Miss Bat, of all people,  _knows,_  and if she knows then everyone else knows, and if everyone else knows then  _Pippa_ knows and if Pippa knows it’s over. Their friendship. The one she’s worked so hard to repair this last year, over tea and dinners and mirror chats and that’s ruined. She thinks back over the night, thinks the reason it’s taken so long to see her is that Pippa must have been avoiding her, must have figured it out and wants nothing to do with her.

She’d thought she’d been discreet, kept her feelings tucked away, but she’d been wrong. Heat flushes her cheeks and she feels the familiar coil of embarrassment, of shame and dread and everything she’d felt back then, when she knew she was falling too hard too fast and needed out before Pippa realized.

Before she pushed her away.

It’s what she’s doing now, Hecate thinks, she must be—Pippa had said she was busy with her own Yule preparations but maybe it was more than that, maybe she could tell, maybe she was trying to extract herself gently, to save them both the humiliation of talking about  _feelings—_

But it’s worse than that, it’s not just Pippa, not a wound she can nurse in private, it’s everyone—Miss Bat and Dimity and Ada—how is she ever going to look Ada in the eye again—and it’s too much. She can’t bear it. Can’t stand the thought of everyone knowing, of laughing at her, of pitying her.

She’s in the process of mentally packing her things and writing Ada a mortifying letter of resignation, of considering how far she’ll need to go to get away from the overwhelming hurt blossoming in her chest—Australia maybe, or god forbid  _America_ , with their horrid public schools and lax education standards—she’ll be relegated to teaching some arrogant little witches with no respect for the craft and no control and all because she couldn’t keep some besotted look off her face after thirty years of—

“Hecate?”

Her shoulders tense at the familiar voice behind her, soft and questioning, and Miss Bat, damn her, just smiles and  _winks_ and wanders away to the other side of the room, leaving her alone—but not alone, surrounded by children—with Pippa, who, by the equal edges of concern and exasperation in her voice, has been trying to get Hecate’s attention for some time while she’s been too busy trying to remember if there’s a spell for the ground to swallow her up.

It takes every ounce of carefully crafted willpower to turn around, her fingers twitching at her side for a transference spell.

There’s nothing out of the ordinary about Pippa’s expression—a hint of amusement, a fondness she directs towards everyone—but she must know, and Hecate feels her fingers curl into fists.

“Miss Pentangle.”

Her voice sounds curt and stilted to her own ears, and she keeps her gaze just to the side of Pippa’s shoulder, furious with herself for catching on the hint of her collarbone and wide neckline of Pippa’s dress.

“Are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a ghost, and a hideous one at that.”

Hecate tries to take stock of what her face is doing—it can’t be good—and attempts to settle her jaw into something that at least passes for calm and collected.

“Fine,” she manages. She shifts her gaze to Pippa’s, and immediately wishes she hadn’t.

There’s warmth there, and confusion, and an unbearable amount of concern and  _she knows, she knows, she knows,_  is the only thing ringing through Hecate’s head, and she barely manages her excuses before transferring out of the ballroom, into her study, where she sinks down into a chair, breathless.

 _Idiot,_  she berates herself. Always ruining things, never happy with what she has, always too much or too little, always taking things for granted. The voice sounds suspiciously like her father’s, and she does her best to push it aside but her heart won’t stop pounding, her hands shaking, and it takes far too long for Hecate to recognize the symptoms for what they are—panic.

It doesn’t do any good, the knowing, because she can’t catch her breath, can’t quite see straight, thoughts too many and too furious and her trembling hands clench and unclench repeatedly at her side. She wants to tear something, wants to rip the dress and its high collar off her body, wants silence, wants, desperately, to breathe but the air is jagged in her lungs, painful and empty. She tries to count but her mind skips over the numbers, tries chants but they make no sense, doesn’t dare try a calming spell, not in this state, not when she barely has control over her body let alone her magic.

It’s been so long since she’s felt this way, she’d almost forgotten the terror of it. She prides herself on her ability to maintain composure, to keep her emotions in check even in dire circumstances, and yet it’s this, this silly, useless feeling she has for Pippa that has sent her spiraling. She can’t feel the chair behind her, can’t hear any sounds except her own thoughts, can’t do anything but cling to the shred of awareness she has left and try to breathe through it.

 _Breathe_ , she commands herself, for all the good it does.

_Breathe._

_Breathe._

“Breathe.”

She blinks, the word so much softer than the one in her head, so much kinder.

“Breathe, Hiccup,” the voice says, and it’s Pippa, Pippa who calls her that, Pippa who’s here, watching her unravel at the seams, and she hears herself make some sort of choked sound, barely human.

And then Pippa’s hands are covering hers, pressing Hecate’s palms against her chest, over Pippa’s heart.

“That’s it, Hiccup. Breathe with me.”

She tries to protest, to insist she’s fine, but Pippa doesn’t let go, just breathes deeply and lets Hecate follow the motion, the rise and fall of her chest.

She’s speaking, though Hecate doesn’t know what about. Something about the party, perhaps, or the school; something grounding.

“You’re in your study,” Hecate hears, “You’re safe. It will pass.”

She doesn’t know how long they stay that way—Pippa crouched before her, hands over hers over her heart, Pippa’s soft, reassuring voice doing more than any words ever could.

It could be minutes, could be hours, before Hecate begins to feel her own body again, the strain in her neck, the floor beneath her feet, the chair.

And Pippa’s heartbeat, soothing under her palms, Pippa’s warm skin under her chilled hands.

She blinks, and Pippa’s smile comes into view—not afraid, not pitying, just gentle.

“There you are,” she says.

Hecate nods slowly, and Pippa lets her hands go, stands and summons a pot of tea and two cups.

Hecate’s hands are still shaking too much to take a cup, but Pippa doesn’t offer, seems to know she needs a moment to collect herself.

When she does, she feels exhausted—wrung out and useless and humiliated.

“I—” she starts, and her voice cracks.

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Pippa says firmly, sitting down in the chair across from her and pulling it close until their knees touch. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“But I—”

Pippa shoves the cup of tea in her hands and gives her a stern look.

They’re quiet a moment, Hecate fixated at a spot on the floor while Pippa studies her.

“How did you know where I was?”

Pippa shrugs. “You disappeared rather abruptly,” she admits. “I thought something might have been the matter.”

“I’m fine,” Hecate says, but it’s more out of habit than anything else and Pippa sighs.

“Clearly you’re not,” she says, and though her voice is soft, Hecate still feels herself stiffen, defensive.

“It’s none of your concern,” she says tightly, forcing her shoulders back. She sets her half empty cup on the table and stands. “We should return to the party. Ada will—”

“I’m sure Miss Cackle and the rest of the staff can handle it for a few more minutes, Hecate.”

She wonders if maybe it’s an insinuation, if someone had said something, if they don’t want her there. She stands stiffly, waiting for Pippa to elaborate, but she just sighs and stares down at her hands.

“I just—I thought maybe your departure had something to do with me. I was hoping we could talk about it, before—”

“It’s nothing you’ve done,” Hecate is quick to reassure her, even if it isn’t quite the truth. “I merely…needed a moment. The crowd—” she starts, but can’t quite finish the lie.

Pippa nods. “You never did like large groups,” she allows, but there’s something almost despondent in her tone, resigned, and as much as Hecate can’t handle her own emotions, she’s incapable of allowing Pippa to feel she’s done something wrong, especially when it isn’t her fault.

“Pippa,” she murmurs, trying to coax the other woman into looking at her.

When she does, Hecate is unprepared for the sadness there, the barely buried pain, and her heart hammers in her chest again, the familiar panic coming back tenfold.

“Pippa—” she tries again, but Pippa waves her off, a small, tremulous smile on her face.

“It’s silly,” she says. “I just thought—”

“Thought what?” Hecate prods, terrified that perhaps Pippa had mistook everything, and instead of knowing how Hecate truly feels, and felt shunted again, tossed aside, and Hecate isn’t sure which is worse.

Pippa looks up from her seat on the chair and shakes her head. “It’s nothing. Just…” She scrubs at her thumb with her other hand, a nervous tick, and Hecate resists the urge to reach out, certain it won’t be welcome.

And then Pippa huffs, her shoulders dropping, and she looks Hecate dead in the eye when she says, “Just the way you look at me sometimes, makes me think—but then you pull away, and I—you can’t  _do_  that, Hecate. You can’t look at me like the way you do and expect me to feel nothing.”

She’s sure her heart has fallen out of her chest. Sure it can’t be beating anymore, because the look on Pippa’s face, more betrayed than she’s ever seen, has to have broken it.

Her heart has always been useless, constantly making a wreck of things, but it’s never done this, never made anyone look at her the way Pippa is now, and she nearly staggers at the sight of it.

“I—I’m sorry,” she manages, barely, her throat hoarse and eyes burning.

She hardly notices Pippa’s small shake of her head, and completely misses the reassuring smile. “It’s not your fault. You can’t help how you feel any more than I can. But sometimes you look at me, and I forget you don’t love me that way, and it just hurts, that’s all. And I would never want to do anything to hurt our friendship, or betray your trust and I know you aren’t comfortable talking about these things, and I’m sorry for bringing it up I just couldn't—Hecate?”

Her throat feels like straw. Everything she wants to say and everything she doesn’t pushing against the insides of her lips, and yet all she manages is a graveled whisper, “What way?”

“What?”

She must have heard wrong, must be mistaken, her traitorous heart and imagination running wild but she’d said—and her voice—

“Love you what way?”

Her voice sounds sharp even to her ears, and Pippa flinches. But she’s always been braver than Hecate, always the confident one, even when she didn’t feel confident, and it’s only a pause before she says, “Like there’s more to us than friends.”

When Hecate doesn’t answer, Pippa narrows her eyes, but it’s mitigated by the fact that they’re bright and wet and her voice isn’t quite steady. “You have to know how I feel about you, Hecate, and frankly it’s unbecoming of you to simply ignore it and hope it goes away. I can’t just stop loving you because you don’t love me back and I won't—”

_“What.”_

It’s all she can manage.

Pippa stops her tirade and stares at her.

“What?”

“You—”

Nothing makes sense, and everything makes sense, and Hecate’s head is spinning so fast she barely recognizes the words as her own.

“You love me?”

Pippa frowns. “Of course I love you. I’ve loved you since we were children.”

Hecate shakes her head, almost frantic. “No, I mean you—”

And then Pippa’s eyes widen, a soft,  _“Oh,”_  escaping her lips. “I thought you knew.” She gives a self-deprecating smile that wobbles at the edges. “I haven’t been very good at hiding it.”

“I—”

“Well,” Pippa interrupts, smoothing down her dress. “Now that I’ve thoroughly embarrassed myself, I should probably return to the party.”

She raises a hand to transfer away, and Hecate panics. Pippa is leaving and she can’t leave, not now, not ever, and her hand reacts without permission (for which she’s entirely grateful) and grasps Pippa’s wrist.

“Hecate?”

She tries to form the words— _I love you, I’ve loved you for so long, please don’t go_ —but nothing comes out. She stares at Pippa and Pippa stares back and there’s a tingling in her hands where they’re touching and the next thing Hecate knows she’s kissing her, kissing Pippa, as if her life depends on it.

She thinks perhaps it does, as melodramatic as that is, before the fear kicks in, because Pippa isn’t moving, isn’t kissing back, isn’t doing anything—

And then a hand curls around her waist and hauls her closer and Pippa’s mouth opens under hers and she feels nothing and everything and warm and bright and weightless. Pippa’s hand slips free to settle on Hecate’s cheek and Hecate doesn’t quite know what to do with her own hands, realizes they’re bunched in the fabric of Pippa’s dress at the waist, clinging desperately.

They kiss until they can’t breathe, until Hecate tears away and presses her face into Pippa’s neck and prays that this wasn’t a mistake, that it’s a beginning not an end.

When she pulls back to meet her gaze, Pippa is staring at her the way she always does, but for the first time, Hecate sees beyond the perpetual fondness, seems something deep and abiding and distinctly hers.

It’s the same face she wears when she looks at Pippa, reflected back.

“That was a surprise,” Pippa says, breathless and hushed, a smile blooming at the corners of her lips.

Hecate swallows. “A welcome one?”

Pippa nods, and brushes her thumb over Hecate’s cheek. “Perfect.”


End file.
